He glowers. “Because of her?”
“Because you thought you could lie to me. Because you have a clear problem for taking responsibility for your own actions. Because you preyed on someone. Any three, but mostly the third, are grounds for termination. I could fire you for much less, so take your things and leave my building. If I see your face anywhere near Cobalt Inc. again, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing. Now you can stop wasting my time. I have a party to attend.”
I choke on air at that last line. The word “surprise” is in my instructions. I’m more surprised than Connor at this point. Surprised a Cobalt Inc. employee subtly prodded me to hook up with him. Surprised Connor just fired him. Surprised that Connor isn’t surprised.
Sleazebag looks mortified, irate, and flabbergasted, all at once. He trots towards his desk with a defeated slouch, and Connor hardly pays him more attention.
He motions to me, and I follow him to the elevators.
I have to sort of sprint to catch up to his lengthy stride. “People are staring,” I whisper.
“People always stare at me.”
Of course they do.
Once inside the elevator, I ask, “Was he important?”
Connor types hurriedly on his phone like he’s fixing a problem. “He wasn’t in an executive position, but he was a project manager. He’ll need to be replaced by tomorrow.”
Guilt creeps up my throat. “You don’t have to fire him because of me.”
“Did you not hear me? It wasn’t just because of you.”
“But he’d still have a job if I didn’t show up.” Why am I defending Sleazebag? I know what Dr. Banning would say. My therapist would tell me that my guilt stems from my own wealth. I feel like I have no right to cut other people off at the knees, even if those people try to hurt me. I’ve been given too much to take away from other people. I’m allowed to be hurt.
I hear Dr. Banning’s clear and distinct words: he does not have the authority to hurt you. No one does.
“Maybe not.” Connor rolls up the sleeves to his button-down. It’s a little warm in the elevator. “It was only a matter of time before he showed me who he really was. Martin believed we were friends, and so he thought he was invulnerable. When people are comfortable, they act more like themselves, which I foster.” His blue eyes flit to mine. “Be yourself, and if your true self puts my company, my employees, and my friends at risk, I won’t think twice about removing you from my circle.”
I would applaud, but I’m too in awe. After all these years, Connor still impresses me. I can’t believe he’s my friend and that he’s married to my sister. He seems otherworldly.
He studies my expression before saying, “If you’re going to call me Superman again, don’t list his mythical powers.”
Like flying. I try hard not call him anything “otherworldly” but I end up blurting out, “Then you’re Batman!”
If he’s annoyed, I can’t tell.
“Batman doesn’t have unnatural powers,” I start to explain.
“I know who Batman is.”
“Because you’re Batman.”
He arches a brow.
Batman would do that. I smile at the thought and remember Connor dressing as the DC character during our Comic-Con outing six years ago.
The elevator doors slide open, and I just now realize that we’re not headed to the lobby. We’ve stopped on the third floor. “Wait…”
Connor is already stepping out, not slowing for me. He doesn’t take commands from anyone but himself…and maybe Rose, but he won’t admit that the same way she wouldn’t admit she listens to him.
I hurriedly follow his lengthy stride again, squeezing between the elevator doors before they close.
The third floor looks less like an executive level. Flooded with copy machines and gray cubicles, everyone is crammed tight. More people loiter around than the people upstairs, but as soon as they see Connor, they dart to their cubicles like little moles scurrying into their holes.
He doesn’t break pace.
“Connor.” I catch up to his side again. “Where are we going?”
“I’m bringing someone to my birthday party.”
“You’re not supposed to know about the party,” I whisper-hiss. How did he find out? Because he’s Connor Cobalt. That might be explanation enough.
He just knows things.
Connor has the same composed face, never changing, not even by a fraction of an inch. He must have a thousand walls hiding his emotions while he’s at work. For anyone, this would be exhausting, but I think this is his normal.
He easily skirts around a water cooler. “If they truly wanted to keep the party a secret, they wouldn’t have sent you to bring me.”
I’m at his offices alone on his birthday. It does seem suspect. “Fair point.”
Connor abruptly halts at a cubicle near an old fax machine. I crash into his back and then stumble. He just looks over his shoulder like a gnat splatted against his windshield.
I think Connor Cobalt is made of titanium.
Superman.
I frown.
Or is he Batman?
This is a real dilemma.
“You were in my way,” I mumble.
He steps to the right, giving me more room to stand. I mutter a thank you and raise my chin like Rose. Who are we bringing to the party? I draw a blank at first, but as soon as I see him, it clicks.
Sitting fixatedly in front of a computer, a twenty-one-year-old with big bulky headphones and messy brown hair types incessantly. His fingers pound the keyboard, not even noticing the strands of hair that hang into his eyes.
“Garrison,” Connor says, loud enough that anyone nearby can hear. Even hovering right in front of his cubicle, Garrison still never lifts his head. He’s transfixed with whatever’s on that computer.
Connor shifts, now able to wave a hand in front of the screen.
His eyes find Connor and then me, and all the while, he continues to type. Multitasking. Not my forte, but I envy those who can. So useful, it’s like a superpower all in itself.
“What do you want?” Garrison snaps, his focus returning to Connor, who also happens to be his boss. Last year, Connor invested in whatever startup Garrison chose, but Garrison’s choice is still a mystery to everyone. He claims he’s in the “early development” stages.
“You’re done for the day,” Connor says. “I need you to come with us.”
Garrison frowns and swings his head to me. He’s still typing. “Is this work related?”
“Umm…” I don’t know what to say. Yes? No? I shrug.
“Will you come with us if it isn’t?” Connor asks.
“No.”
Recently, we’ve all been a little worried about him. With Willow in London, he doesn’t have a lot of friends in Philadelphia, and he never talks about his family to Lo or me. They only live one street over, but his parents aren’t very social with any of us.
“Then it’s work related,” Connor replies. “Grab your things.”
Garrison yanks his headphones to his neck. To me, he says, “Just tell me where we’re going and why.”
I cave.
Mostly because this is Garrison, and he worked at Superhero & Scones before he ever migrated to Cobalt Inc. Sincerity even fills his blue-green eyes, and I can’t say no to it.
“Ryke’s house—or cottage.” We all call it a cottage; I don’t know why I called it a house. “It’s a surprise party for Connor.”
Connor has no reaction towards the venue of his party. He really keeps his emotions padlocked at work.
Garrison’s face scrunches up like we’re both insane. “How is this a surprise birthday if you know? And why the hell do you want me to go?”
“Surprising me is so rare that everyone uses the term loosely.” Then he points at the computer. “You’re here at six in the morning and you leave at midnight. Seven days a week. While I appreciate your work ethic, as your friend, it’s disconcerting.”
I didn’t know any of that. Garrison never kept those kind of hours at Superheroes & Scones, but that was also when Willow lived here.